


abecedarian

by malahmente



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, Royai - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-09-26 08:18:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17138255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malahmente/pseuds/malahmente
Summary: Someone wants to know the Flame Alchemist's secrets, but do they know where to look? Royai.





	1. chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> un-beta'd.
> 
> you can find more of my work at malahmente @ tumblr.
> 
> happy holidays!

****The file was slapped on Roy Mustang's desk at exactly 1001 hours.

"And this is?" he said, following the hand up to the face of one Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes.

Hughes shrugged, half-sitting on Roy's desk. "Read it."

Mustang dragged his eyes to Hughes’ stiff standing bodyguards—Second Lieutenant Maria Ross and Sergeant Denny Brosh—before flashing back to his friend. “Will reading it explain why it's here?"

"It might."

Roy stamped down the sudden urge to immolate his best friend on the spot and instead picked up the document. "Iacomus Kraust," he read aloud from the pristine white paper that was clipped unto the folder, "Age 34. One brother, parents both deceased. Last known residence was West Village. Likely involved in drug smuggling and human trafficking. No non-circumstantial evidence, no warrant out for arrest." He set the file down and steepled his fingers. "Doesn't explain why it's on _my_ desk."

The bespectacled man leaned in. "Because I need your permission to borrow your incredibly effective team on this mission!"

"Absolutely not." Roy's gaze was flat. "My unit isn't loanable for missions."

Hughes gave a dramatic sigh and dragged his hands down his cheeks. "But _Roooooooy_! You have the fastest-working team! And you're a full set!" He pointed to each person in the room. "Havoc's perfect for covert stuff, Fuery does great comms, Breda's a great strategist! And Hawkeye would make _great_ bait—"

Riza's eyes flashed and clicked the safety off her gun.

"—and a _fantastic_ secret weapon," finished Hughes nervously, releasing a breath of relief when she clicked it back on.

Falman frowned. "What about me?"

"Huh? Oh, right. You're great for... writing reports."

Falman scowled at that. "Hey, I can do more than _just_ reports."

Havoc snorted. "Like what? Bore the mark to death with your endless trivia?"

"At least _I_ have a steady girlfriend, you—"

" _Boys_ ," Hawkeye warned, adjusting her holster. Both men shut up immediately and continued on with their paperwork.

Roy, who was silently thinking as they bickered, spoke. "What's the objective?"

"Catch him in the act," Hughes answered, "Or at the very least get evidence that isn't circumstantial. It's very in-and-out, won't take more than 12 hours total."

Roy seemed to be mulling it over. "You need my whole team?"

Hughes smirked. "I need you operating in your best environment. Does that need your whole team?"

Roy paused, and sighed. Addressing his men, he said, "Well, you heard the man. We're going on a field trip."

"Sweet," Breda said, stretching. Extending his arms, he linked his hands together and cracked his knuckles. "When?"

Hughes answered with a sly smile, adjusting his glasses. "Tonight's as good a night as any."

* * *

Hughes managed to annoy Administration into moving the entire office’s deadlines to next Tuesday, and as _insufferable_ as the man’s garble was about his wife, Roy had to admit that it came in handy sometimes. Namely, when they needed to annoy Administration into moving deadlines.

"Fuery will stay here," Breda said, and next to him, Hughes encircled a house on the map with a pencil; he and Hughes came up with a plan half an hour ago. The rest of the team hovered around the map on Mustang’s desk. "We'll set up at 1600—Falman, you stick with Fuery. Havoc, I need you at the bar."

"What about Hawkeye?" Mustang asked, his Lieutenant standing a little behind him as they looked over.

“We’re setting up a trap to catch Kraust, right? Well, women are really good at catching men,” Breda said with a shrug.

Hughes tapped the pencil to his chin and jerked his chin at Ross, standing by the door. "I’m sure Ross has a slinky little number Hawkeye could wear to lure in Kraust—"

“What?” Ross snapped, her face crumpling in distaste. Next to her by the door, Brosh smacked a hand to his face. “Please stop assuming you know what is and what is not in my _closet_ , Lieutenant Colonel—”

"What?" Roy asked, copying Ross’ expression to a T. "Absolutely not. Hawkeye will not play _bait_."

“She’s not bait,” Hughes said, ignoring Ross. “She’s our _secret weapon_.”

“Yeah, a secret weapon playing bait,” Mustang huffed. “No.”

"Oh, come off it. Let the lady choose, at least," Hughes said, waving his hand.

"I would like _not_ to be bait,” Hawkeye deadpanned. Roy threw Hughes a victorious smirk. “But,” she continued, and Roy’s smirk tensed, “I will do what is necessary to make sure the mission is a success.”

The Colonel’s jaw unhinged in the slightest, and Maes slapped the man’s back in victory. “Perfect! Roy, you heard Hawkeye. Ross, do you have a dress?”

The dark-haired woman was _not_ amused. “Lieutenant Colonel, I _just said_ —”

“What?” Mustang’s head snapped to glare at Hawkeye, ignoring the two bickering officers. “Where was this—this _compliance_ during the Miniskirt Day?”

“We said we’d never speak of that again,” Hawkeye said sharply.

Breda and Havoc remained solemn. “Let’s remember that day with utmost respect,” Havoc said, beating his chest. Breda did the same with a nod.

Falman stepped away from both men at the memory, while Fuery squatted to cover a whimpering Hayate’s ears.

“Don’t mention _that day_ around the dog,” chastised Fuery.

“Miniskirt Day?” Brosh asked, confused. “What’s Miniskirt Day?”

Havoc was about to answer through his lit cigarette when a flash of gunmetal caught his eye and he clammed up. A loud smack unexpectedly reverberated throughout the room, and a twitching, irate Ross stood as calmly as she could next to her commanding officer, who was now sporting a bright red handprint on his cheek.

"I could have you court-martialed for that," whimpered Hughes.

"I could  _tell your wife_ ," countered Ross.

“So Ross _doesn’t_ have a dress,” Hughes said with finality, adjusting his glasses and ignoring his flaming cheek altogether. “Which means we need to buy one. Preferably black with a slit. Something mouthwatering.” He paused. “I hope that’s okay with you, Hawkeye."

“It isn’t, but I do understand the objective.” She mulled over what she was about to say. “I may have a dress. Not dangerous or with a slit, but a dress.”

“A _dress_?” Mustang’s jaw dropped. “Since _when_?”

“Since I became a human woman,” she said flatly, not looking at him.

Falman and Fuery snorted, while Ross brought her fist to her mouth and widened her eyes. Hughes flat out cackled.

Brosh managed to disguise his laugh with a cough. Breda hissed, while next to him, Havoc shook his head with a hearty laugh. “Damn. Good one, Lieutenant!”

“Shut up,” Mustang growled, snapping his fingers. Havoc’s cigarette instantly burned down to the butt.

* * *

“Are you done yet?”

“Sir, for the _last time_ ,” Hawkeye answered from one corner of the room, “Just let me _get ready_.”

“Hawkeye’s right, Colonel,” Havoc said, already changed into a casual shirt and slacks like the everyone else. He propped his feet up on the desk and let his head hang back as he tipped the chair. “Girls take forever to get ready. Too much hair to deal with.”

A hair brush came sailing from Hawkeye’s corner of the room and hit Havoc at the side of the head, and the remaining standing legs of his chair slipped. Havoc came crashing down with a groan.

Breda cackled.

“Help me up,” Havoc cried.

“No, man! You deserved that!”

“Excuse _you_ , sexist pig,” Ross, still in her military blues, groused irately. She gently dabbed kohl on Hawkeye’s closed eyelids with her finger. “I’ve only been here five minutes!”

Hughes poked his head into the room. “Are you done yet?”

“ _ARGH_!” Ross cried, throwing her hands up. “Can everyone just _shut up_ and let me _work in peace_?!”

“I didn’t even do anything,” Brosh said in a small voice, holding Ross’ brush case. Ross ignored him and plucked a brush to glide over Hawkeye’s cheeks.

“Are Fuery and Falman in position?” Mustang asked, looking out into the darkened city from his window.

“How’s the dress, Hawkeye?” Hughes asked, shutting the door behind him.

“It's fine. I use this all the time, so I can run in it, if worse comes to worst.”

“Open your mouth,” Ross instructed gently. Riza followed, and a stripe of red filled her lips.

“Okay. I mentioned we’d use it for a mission, so I think she’s accepted that she’s not getting it back.” Walking over to Hawkeye and Ross, he crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side. “Hey, not bad! You look... great.”

Hawkeye raised the mirror she held in her lap to her face. When she caught sight of her reflection, she sighed. “You can say... inappropriate.”

Havoc perked up from the floor. “Oh ho ho, this I gotta see.”

“Wearing makeup doesn’t debilitate my _shooting skills_ , Second Lieutenant,” warned Hawkeye, setting down the mirror.

“On second thought, I’ll stay right here. Floor’s pretty great. Aren’t floors great?”

“You disgust me,” Breda said with distaste at his blond comrade.

Mustang finally turned and set his eyes on Hawkeye.

Her blonde hair was down, sweeping past her shoulders. A flattering red adorned her lips, and a little bit of kohl lined her eyes. It was definitely new, very different from the fresh face he was used to seeing against the blues of the uniform. Now it was red, lined eyes, and an… _interesting_ dress that he knew Hawkeye wouldn’t put on willingly. Still, Roy wouldn’t call it inappropriate. He’d call it…

“Very alluring,” he said, passing it off as a casual comment. “Good job, Lieutenant Ross.”

Ross gave a formal salute, despite it being after hours, and she and Denny packed up. Hawkeye fussed with the earrings that Hughes leant to her—big, baroque pearl things, adorned with gold and hung on the sides of her face—while she stood stiffly to the side as Hughes, Breda, and Havoc went over the floor plan.

Mustang strode over. “Nervous?” He phrased it as a question, but it came out like an observation.

She glanced at him, and he could tell she was holding in a smile. “I don’t know why I’m surprised you can tell.”

“I can always tell,” he said seriously, and in a voice only she could hear, “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Hawkeye said in her usual deadpan, face betraying no emotion.

Mustang chuckled. “At ease, Lieutenant. It's after hours.”

She furrowed her brow. “How can it be after hours if we’re about to go on a mission?”

He shook his head good-naturedly. He’d forgotten how incredibly adept his Lieutenant was with playing dumb. “You’re right. Of course, as always.”

“Roy!” Hughes called, beckoning him over. “Let’s go. Ops said he’d be there by nine.”

“We’ll be there by nine-thirty,” Mustang said confidently.

“Go over the plan,” Hughes instructed.

“I’ll escort Hawkeye in as my date. Havoc enters sixteen minutes before us, while Breda will be there playing bartender.”

“After six minutes,” Havoc answered, “the Colonel will head to the toilet and Breda will slide Hawkeye a drink under the guise of me buying it for her. I come over and she rebuffs me.” He pauses in thought. “Actually, can she entertain me even just a _little_ bit—”

“Meanwhile,” Mustang continued, speaking over a dejected Havoc, “Hughes will chummy up to Kraust and point him in the direction of Hawkeye. If that doesn’t work, Hawkeye will…” Roy looked like he struggled with finishing his sentence, before finally conceding. “Hawkeye will distract him.”

“I hope that part of the plan happens. On the dancefloor, with other women,” Havoc said hopefully, straightening with a smile.

“Keep it professional, Havoc,” Mustang snapped. The blond slumped again.

“It’s just a back-up, anyway,” Hughes said, waving his hand.

“We’ll be connected through comms operated by Fuery if anything happens, and at 2200 hours, Lieutenant Colonel Hughes will arrive with back up,” finished Hawkeye.

“Good, good. No other questions?”

“None, sir,” Hawkeye answered for everyone.

“Great, let’s go. Ross, Brosh—you’re free to go. Thanks for all your help.”

Ross saluted. “Yes, Sir. Good luck.”

Brosh followed in her suit and relaxed when the Lieutenant Colonel returned the gesture. He herded all of them out, leaving Hawkeye and Mustang in the room. The blonde immediately started tidying up the office. Roy sighed, doing his part by clearing his own desk.

“We leave in five,” Mustang said from his office chair, glancing at the clock. It took her a beat too long to nod, and he caught up with it immediately. He turned to her and found her looking over the case file. “Something on your mind?”

She pursed her lips in thought. “The name Kraust,” she thought aloud, “It sounds familiar to me.”

“It’s not the most common of names, that’s for sure.”

She shook her head. “I may be overthinking it.”

“I’m sure it’ll come to you.” He got up and slid his chair under his desk. He grabbed his coat and let it rest over her shoulders, leading her away with a hand at the small of her back. “Come on. We’re late by thirty seconds.”

* * *

The plan, expectably, went off without a hitch.

Breda was brilliant, and even if the plan was quite simple, it was effective—everything was followed to a T, except the part where Kraust was supposed to approach Hawkeye at the bar. But they had a back up for that, too.

 _Hawkeye dancing_ , Roy thought. It was… unusual, as it wasn’t tried and tested—unlike Roy’s flirting to get girls to talk—but Breda had faith in it. Hughes had confidence in her. Both weren’t unfounded. The mission was a sure success, as all missions that were assigned to them, but in a different way. Mustang could have attributed to the dress, but he knew that the glory belonged to the woman wearing it.

Hughes was some seats away from Havoc, who was staring at Hawkeye shamelessly. Roy could see from his vantage point. But Roy couldn’t blame him. Hell, he couldn’t blame _any_ man for staring. He wasn’t exactly innocent, either.

Roy dragged his eyes up her body in a way that would guarantee a bullet to the brain on a regular day, but from his spot, hidden near the toilets, he was free to do as he wanted.

She was beautiful, he’d always known that. He’d told her on several occasions, too. It wasn’t like she didn’t want people to acknowledge that she wasn’t bad looking. It was just… not important.

She never _weaponized_ that beauty, either. Instead she used her hands and her guns and her aim. It wasn’t a loss, per se. Roy didn’t particularly care; she was free to do as she pleased. But tonight, she could definitely include ‘hip-swaying’ to her arsenal.

The dress was mobile but form-fitting, showing off her legs but covered her chest. The blood red color made her look even more alluring. She was soft and pliable and _seductive_ on the dance floor, not at all like the hardened soldier she had grown to be. Roy thought back briefly to this morning, when she was still in her uniform. It was almost like he’d stepped into an alternate universe.

A movement at the corner of his eye signaled that Havoc had moved into his back-up position, while Breda arranged glasses aimlessly on one side. Roy looked back at the dance floor. Riza was near the target, slightly out of reach, but he was playing straight into her hand, leering and staring up and down her body.

They’d catch the bastard tonight, no doubt about it.

Fuery’s voice, distorted by some static, carried from his comm. “Back up has arrived. The snake can strike.”

Roy let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. He pressed a button near his ear. “Copy that.” With a sharp glance at Breda, the man nodded and passed behind their target, who was leaning on the bar.

Hawkeye, on cue, sidled up to the man and whispered something in his ear. He grinned lecherously and led the way to the back, but not without trailing his hand from her backside, all the way up to her neck, and back down. The dress covered the expanse of her back, but the material was thin. If Kraust wanted to cop a feel, he’d definitely get it.

Roy’s fingers twitched, feeling naked without his gloves.

He froze when Hawkeye met his eyes with a sharp stare, and the glint from below his line of vision—her gun on her thigh holster, he could tell—relaxed him somewhat. _Wait_ , she communicated silently, and he stepped further back, letting her drag Kraust out via the backdoor. It calmed him some. She could handle herself.

Havoc stood up and silently followed a few seconds later, Breda taking his empty glass and wiping tables. It was done so inconspicuously that it made Roy smirk. He had a fantastic team. Hughes had been right in getting them for this mission.

Minutes later, Fuery’s voice—half victorious, half relieved—came in through the comm. “The snake has bitten the hand. We’re done here.”


	2. chapter two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year!
> 
> more of me at malahmente @ tumblr.

If there was any reliable truth that Riza Hawkeye could rely on in this particular situation, it was that men were  _so easy_  to manipulate.

"What's your name, baby?" he asked her.

She tried not to gag. "Stacey."

He grinned, his hand an unwelcome grasp on her waist. "You don't look like a Stacey."

"Oh? What do I look like?"

"Hmm," he grins. "More like... an Elizabeth."

The hairs on her arms stood on end but she forced out tinkling laugh. "You're funny."

"And you're gorgeous, baby!"

Okay, enough.

"Jim," Hawkeye whispered in a seductive rasp, "Maybe we should go a little more… private."

She expected the man to leer, grin lecherously, maybe cop a feel. He did all those things, but he ran his hand brazenly up her back. She suppressed her immediate reaction to tense and led him to the back door. Breda gave her a surreptitious nod in Havoc's direction behind her. Good.

When they ended up in the back alley he grabbed her hips a little too roughly, his tongue licking at her neck like it was some sort of treat.

She rolled her eyes and let her fingers drift slowly to her gun, ignoring the sick feeling in her stomach. How predictable.

* * *

Havoc saw it before he could react.

Jim Kraust, tonight's target, was currently preoccupied by the Lieutenant's neck. He lapped on it, like a mutt dying of thirst, and a shudder Havoc couldn't help wracked his body.

Kraust's shaking hands slowly approached Hawkeye's behind ( _seriously_ , it was a miracle he didn't have  _at least_  fifteen bullets in his skull by now), but they accidentally brushed on her thigh holster. The man blanched and pulled away, cursing. He made a grab for the back of his jeans.

Havoc stiffened, cocking his pistol, ready to shoot, but his vantage point was off, obstructed by a dumpster. He'd trailed the pair and was hiding between the dumpster and the bar's backdoor, prioritizing not being seen over being ready if she needed back up—as instructed. Feury and Falman had good visual on this alley from their vantage point across the street, but was ultimately useless if Kraust pulled a weapon.

Finally biting the bullet, he decided that he would raise his pistol and back up the lieutenant.

When he turned and raised his arms, his eyes widened and his grip went slack.

Hawkeye had grabbed Kraust's wrist when her eyes caught the flash of a gun. Twisting his arm deftly, he'd dropped the gun and before he could even scream the Lieutenant yanked him forward and slammed her elbow to his face. The sickening, loud crack made Havoc start, but Hawkeye's gaze was calm, sharp, and focused.

She ducked and rushed forward, twisting Kraust's arm behind him. With a nasal cry, he tried to struggle, but Hawkeye showed no mercy. She kicked his knees and he gave out onto the alley, and with one final twist of her body, she let go of his arm and slammed her elbow on the side of the man's neck. His cry cut off and he limply collapsed on the floor.

Havoc twitched. If he was being honest with himself, that was probably  _the_  hottest thing he had ever seen in his life. Hawkeye was skilled in battle, and that  _dress_  that no superior officer should wear around her subordinates lest they… okay, no one in their right mind would try anything with Hawkeye. But they could definitely  _think_  things that could get them court-martialed.

Her clip had fallen out in the tussle and there was a smear of blood along her cheek. Havoc swallowed, still staring. She bent over the man and frisked him for more weapons, her hair falling in a curtain beside her face. Her heels added to the length of her leg, but the flash of the gun settled on her thigh holster made him tense.

This was stupid. Mustang would kill him if he so much as looked at Hawkeye the wrong way. What was  _with_  those two, anyway?

Havoc violently started when Feury's voice came on the comm. "The snake has bitten the hand. We're done here."

Mustang came through the comm. "Excellent timing. Suspect apprehended?"

"Apprehended? More like—" Havoc teased, but cut off when Hawkeye flashed him such a dangerous look that it made a particular part of his anatomy shrivel up in fear.

"More like what, Havoc?" Falman asked.

"Nothing. I wasn't saying anything."

"I may have… overdone it, a bit," Hawkeye admitted, eyes warning Havoc to keep silent. He followed.

"Yeesh, Hawkeye," Hughes' voice came in. "Remind me never to try and piss you off."

"You shouldn't even be thinking of trying in the first place," Riza said flatly, holstering her pistol.

"I'm sure it wasn't uncalled for," snorted Breda. "That guy was a creep."

"Yeah, the way he—" Havoc started, but another look from the Lieutenant made the second part shrivel up like its brother. "You know what? I'll just stop talking. I'm gonna grab a smoke, it's been a long night."

Mustang snorted. "Let's call it a night, then. Hughes?"

"Right," the Lieutenant Colonel said. "Thanks for all your help. I'll have the MP's take care of Kraust. Fuery, cut the comm."

"Yes, sir," Feury said, and a touch friendler, "Good night, guys."

Feury's goodbye was the last thing her comm transmitted before a click let her know that the signal had been cut off. Hawkeye sighed, and turned her head to the back door.

"You two okay?" Mustang asked, stepping through the door and letting it creak closed behind him.

"Yes, sir," Havoc and Hawkeye said simultaneously. Hawkeye saluted, and Havoc scrambled to.

With a heavy sigh, Mustang followed lazily. "At ease. It's after hours, so enough with this 'sir' business."

Havoc snorted. "Right. Good luck getting Hawkeye to follow."

Hawkeye rolled her eyes and put down her arm.

"Hughes is handling taking him in," Mustang said. "Havoc, thanks for your help. Go on ahead, I'll take care of the Lieutenant."

Riza frowned, but said nothing.

"You got it, chief. Have a good night," he said, pulling out a cigarette. "Take care, Lieutenant. Colonel."

Hawkeye nodded and turned back to Kraust's form, groaning as the MPs approached in a flurry of commands and footsteps. While some of them tried to pull Kraust up, the captain of the squad approached Mustang and saluted. "We'll take it from here, sir."

"Thank you," Mustang said, saluting briefly. 

"Kressler!" Hughes called, jogging up to them. "Thanks for coming."

"No problems, Lieutenant Colonel. We'll take him in."

Hughes copied the gesture and rubbed a hand over his chin. "Administrations is going to want the report for this arrest by Monday. Is Marie going to harp on you if I give it to her late?" He grinned suggestively. "Or can you put in a good word for me? I'll give it on Wednesday, at the latest!"

Kressler reddened. "Um, no, sir, but—"

"'Atta boy!" Hughes said, smacking the young man squarely on the back. "Charm her for me!"

"Hughes," Mustang said exasperatedly. "Can you not terrorize the MP's?"

"Terrorize?" Hughes said, completely offended. "Why, I'll have you know—"

"Fucking  _bitch_ ," Kraust groaned from the ground, cutting their conversation.

Hughes' eyes flashed while Mustang's narrowed.

Kressler instructed the MP's that held Kraust to secure their grip their grip. "You're under arrest. We'd prefer it if you go quietly."

Kraust coughed and struggled without much heat. He glared at Riza one more time, a lecherous grin on his face. "Didn't need a night, babe. Only a touch."

Kressler frowned, motioning for more MPs to help detain the man. "You're disgusting."

"I'm  _filthy_ ," he said lasciviously, eyes trained on Hawkeye. "Watch your  _back_ , woman."

Deciding that this was getting too out of hand, Mustang took off his coat and placed it squarely over Hawkeye's shoulders. He turned her away from the man. "Come on, Lieutenant, I'll drive you home."

Hawkeye frowned, distracted. "Sir, you don't—"

"Let me drive you home, Lieutenant," Mustang said. Despite the argument building in her throat, she could recognize an order when she heard one. Bidding Hughes a good night, he led her to the car lot. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, sir," she said, unable to shake off Kraust's gaze.

He could read her very well. "Kraust was disgusting. Just forget it."

"I said I'm fine."

Mustang sighed. He stepped in front of her and adjusted the lapels his jacket. His warm fingers brushed over the spot Kraust got a little… carried away with.

Hawkeye stiffened.

"Come on," Mustang said, pulling his fingers away. "I'll drive. It's late and you need rest."

"I—" Hawkeye tried to protest. She sighed. "Fine, sir."

Mustang smiled warmly. "Is it too much for you to drop the 'sir'?"

"It is, sir," Hawkeye said flatly.

Mustang chuckled. "Of course."

The ride to the Lieutenant's was a sober affair. Neither of them had much to drink—Hawkeye had coquettishly declined Kraust's offers while Roy had to keep his head clear for the mission.

Roy tried not the think of the marks on his Lieutenant's neck. Kraust was—he clenched the wheel.  _Asshole_ , he thought venomously.

"Hawkeye," he began as calmly as he could, "Kraust."

"Yes, sir?"

"Did he… Did he touch you anywhere else?"

It felt like a stupid question. He didn't want her to feel like he didn't think that she could take care of herself. He just… just…

"You're asking pointless questions, sir," Hawkeye murmured from the passenger seat.

He pursed his lips.

"I'm fine. He marked my neck and maybe copped a feel. Nothing permanent, and nothing long lasting."

She made sense. Everything she said made sense, but still…

"Are you okay?" he finally asked, exasperated. He just wanted to know if tonight was too much. Her other marks weren't as... handsy. Kraust was very much used to getting what he wanted, and tonight, he had wanted Hawkeye.

Hawkeye didn't answer, and Roy drove on, turning a left and parking in front of her complex. He kept his grip on the wheel for what felt like hours, but was probably minutes.

Hawkeye stared at his white knuckles. She sighed. He could so worked up about things like these.

"I'm fine," she repeated in a softer tone, moving to gently tug his hands off the wheel. "I'm okay. I really am."

Roy pulled away from her touch and rubbed his face. "Right. Sorry. I get—I think I put you through too much, sometimes."

"Are you feeling guilty? Because becoming the bait was—"

"Your decision, I know." He pulled his hands away and shook his head. "I'm being irrational."

She gave a small smile. "You're just concerned." She unlocked the door and pushed it open. "Thank you for the drive home, sir."

"Can I call you?" he asked before she could shut the door. "When I get home. Just—just—"

"Of course, sir," Riza said, understanding. "Good night."

He said nothing but didn't start the car. Riza resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she walked to the door of her building. Sometimes, his overprotectiveness got annoying, but she knew he meant well.

The sound of the engine started as soon as she closed the door behind her, and it faded away into the distance as he drove down the street. She climbed the stairs and fished out her keys.

"Hayate," she called as soon as she opened her door, but when there was no response she hovered her hands over her holster.

Switching on the light, she cursed. Her apartment had been ransacked. Pulling out her gun, she slowly combed her apartment.

"Hayate!" she shouted, slowly opening the door to her storage. Her eyes widened when she saw several boxes ripped open, and papers strewn about.

Papers with her Father's handwriting.

She started violently when the phone rang. She paled.  _Oh no, the Colonel._

He shouldn't be worrying about this. He should be getting some rest. He should—

The ringing didn't stop. With a trembling lip, she made her way over and picked up the phone.

"Hawkeye?" he said from the other end.

What would she say? "Sir," she breathed.

Silence. Then, "What happened?"

What should she say? They both just came from a mission, they both should get rest. Deciding to lie, she began, "I—"

"The truth, Hawkeye," he commanded, as if he could hear exactly what she was thinking. "What's wrong?"

"Hayate's missing," she said.

A pause. "What else?"

Hawkeye bit her lip. She was foolish to think he wouldn't know her inside out. "I… My apartment was broken into."

Mustang swore. "Pack your things. You're sleeping here. I'll be there in ten minutes."

"Sir—"

" _That's an order,_ " he said, firmly, and despite how much she didn't want it to, the command felt like a warm blanket. He'd take care of her. He'd be there.

"Yes, sir," she breathed. "I'll pack up."


End file.
